


Not Being Dead

by TuneFox_Ikeedia



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Crack, Crying (as in-you will), Depressing, John's Jumpers, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Self-Harm, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 12:25:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuneFox_Ikeedia/pseuds/TuneFox_Ikeedia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, it starts as weird crack. Just keep reading until the characters seem less high, then it gets serious. ANGSTY ANGSTY ANGST! Warning: you will cry if you have a soul. But please enjoy~!</p>
<p>Set a about 2 months after Sherlock returns from the grave. John re-lives a major breakdown he had while Sherlock was dead.</p>
<p>"...a woolen jumper. Navy blue, dotted with random white splotches...I didn't want to relive this experience ever again, but.. he has to know. He deserves to. Even so long after everything, it still hurts. My chest constricted, forcing out a laugh, it sounded strangled and cut. 'hah...you weren't there, were you?' God, I was starting to sound psychotic."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Being Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Co-authored by me and KuraiOkami17 (on FF dot net). She is my Sherlock, I am her John, and through the power of text messages and Google docs we bring you...FANFICTION!
> 
> This fic is set a about 2 months after Sherlock returns from the grave, and he and John have become a couple somewhere within that time span. Do not let the initial randomness fool you, you _will_ cry by the end.  
>  without further adieu, Please enjoy **"Not Being Dead"**

“Johnlock forevs!!! Sherlock shouted running down a baker street clothed only in a banner with a very large picture of John and Sherlock in a very compromising position

John found himself struck speechless

“Join me john!” Sherlock screamed, twirling around in his cape

“...oh god Sherlock...I don't even know what to say anymore...”

“You wanted recognition, John” Sherlock said simply, stopping in the middle of the street, no less modest than he ever was.

****

John rolled his eyes “Sherlock just put some clothes on”

“I have my banner” Sherlock pulled said ‘banner’ around himself

”Of course you do. Now would you get back inside?“

“Why?”

“Because you're going to get sick out there, then I'm going to have to deal with your whining when I'm forced to take care of you. “

“If you insist john” Sherlock huffed, marching back inside, holding his banner around himself.

John held in his laughter and followed his naked flatmate back into 221b.

Once inside though, Sherlock discarded his last article of clothing, flinging it to the floor.

John looked away, face heating up. “honestly Sherlock! The blinds are open and everything!”  John strode over to the curtains just behind the couch and tugging them shut.

“No one's looking up HERE, John” Sherlock said.

“Deduced that just now, did you?”

“Now that's just common sense, everyone knows the last place anyone looks is up.”

“Sarcasm” John pointed out dryly.

“I was aware, John, Thank you.”

John sighed in exasperation and went to the kitchen for some sort of snack. “HOLY SH-....I shouldn't be surprised anymore, should I?”

:It has been quite long enough,” Sherlock said disdainfully. “It's only a couple tongues”

“They look _human!_ Are they _human tongues?!_ Where the hell do you get these things?!”

“Of course they're human. There would be no point to the experiment if the factor of differing SPECIES were thrown in.” Sherlock said. “And I get them at Bart's of course”

****

**John POV**

* * *

_Of course_ I thought, slamming my face into my palm.  ”Should've known. Molly's WAY too into you.”

 

“Oh, don't be ridiculous, John, it's just a little crush, she'll get over it soon enough.” Sherlock scoffed

”ok Sherlock” I sighed, _he really doesn't get it._

It was silent for a moment, Sherlock did not move from his spot in the center of the sitting room.

“It is kind of cold in here...” Sherlock finally admitted.

“No duh” I rolled my eyes but couldn't keep the grin off my face. “Go put something on would you? I'll even accept your sheet, just cover up.”

“I can't......” Sherlock looked away, his cheeks turning slightly red.

_oh god.._. “ ...why?”

“I.. er.. accidentally burnt all of my clothes in an experiment. “ Sherlock said. “I'll be getting new ones though! .... as soon as Mycroft unfreezes my accounts. “

“How on earth...? Y'know what? Never mind.” _Well it could be worse._ “Go up to my room, you can borrow some clothes. I'll talk to Mycroft about allowing some freedom on your credit card for clothes buying.” I ran my hand through my hair, grabbing my laptop off my lounger and taking my place on the couch.

“Really?” Sherlock said, as if there would be a reason I wouldn’t have meant it “Thank you, John” He gave a small smile before tromping up the stairs. I was fairly sure I heard him muttering to himself “If you tell him, i'm sure he'll believe you, faithless bastard”

I could hear the door close and then the clatter of Sherlock rummaging through my drawers.

“No...problem...” I was focused on E-Mailing Mycroft, I wasn’t really sure I wanted to know WHY he’d frozen Sherlock’s accounts this time. If there’s one thing I learned around the Holmes boys it’s that some things really are better left unknown.

Sherlock clomped back down from my room just as I had finished and sent the e-mail to Mycroft. I looked up as he came back into view; he was wearing a pair of tan trousers that were much too short on him, but I don’t exactly own anything that would measure up, even things that are overly large on myself. He was also clothed in...a woolen jumper. Navy blue, dotted with random white splotches, that hugged his body tightly, showing off his lean yet masculine frame. I could feel my face heat up against my will.

I swear, though, I’m not gay in the slightest. Sherlock just doesn’t count when it comes to ‘meaningless things like gender’. His words, not mine.

The detective pulled at the hem of the downy sweater, looking only slightly uncomfortable in the ill fitting garb. “I've never seen this one before.” he said.

I cleared my throat before speaking, “Yeah, Harry sent it a few months ago...haven't worn it much.”

“Hmm,” he began, scanning the jumper briefly, “any particular reason why?” Sherlock flopped down next to me on the couch, nonchalantly tossing his arm over the backing behind my shoulders. I simply shrugged in answer.

“You probably know better than I do already,” At this i glanced up at his face, giving him a knowing, albeit doleful, look. “don't you?”

“She started drinking again,” he began. I could instantly hear the change in his voice, the prideful undertone he got when he was being aregular smartass and showing off. “But that in itself wouldn't cause you to stop wearing the jumper...”

“So.. the day she gave you the jumper wasn't a happy one, wearing the jumper causes you to relive it. But seeing it elicits no response so... not the day you _received_ the jumper, the first day you wore it then? Probably not the sight so much as the feel. A few months ago.. a bad day...”

I nodded expectantly in his direction, waiting for him to continue.

“It's the feeling of the jumper that bothers you, so someone probably got hurt...

... that happens a lot doesn't it?” His expression morphed into an apologetic grimace.

“...yeah, someone got hurt. Pretty badly actually.” I spoke tentatively, knowing I was probably giving away far too much just by thinking about it.  I glanced out the window to the busy streets of London, trying to rub away the phantom pain that decided to appear again in my ‘bad’ leg.

Sherlock’s eyes darted down to my hand and he frowned deeply “If it was.. a few months ago, I wouldn't have been here.” His pastel eyes looked all over my face and hands trying to read the answer and he gave a sigh of frustration as evidence of what he’d found  “can you tell me about it?”

I tensed up. I didn’t want to relive this experience ever again, but.. he has to know. He deserves to. Even so long after everything, it still hurts. My chest constricted, forcing out a laugh, it sounded strangled and cut.. “hah...you weren't there, were you?” God, I was starting to sound crazy.

**Sherlock POV**

* * *

 

I closed my eyes in a sort of physical sigh. _Of course I wasn’t._ I’m here now though, and it looked like John needed me more than ever. My Blogger leaned forward, running his hands through his sandy hair. He was suddenly very far away from 221b, and very lost.   “but at the same time, you were.”

“ About four months ago, I finally had enough courage to come back around here.” John looked up, gazing straight forward, He wasn’t looking at what was in front of him though. I could tell that much. His gaze was so unfocused, like a foggy lense.  “I intended on packing up some things I left behind, and just getting the process of acceptance over with, like my therapist told me to...”

My own gut twisted painfully. I couldn’t look at him like this, so broken, and it was because of what **I’D** done. I waited for him to continue the recollection. I needed to know, now for John’s sake as well.

John didn’t see me, he didn’t even seem aware of my presence anymore. He was so deep into his own mind.

“...your violin, though. It was gone.” John said. My eyes flew open, I remembered that day. I had come to collect it, I was forced to hide for a while and I wanted something to help with the boredom. John hadn’t been back to the flat in months - I knew that-.  “it set something off in me” John continued, walking over to the window he’d closed earlier and holding the curtain open a centimetre. A stripe of sunlight fell onto his face, illuminating one glazed blue eye turned to the gray streets of London. “ ...dunno why, just did...” John let the curtain fall shut but continue to stare at it. “and I left, I guess, acting like nothing had bothered me. I had tea with Mrs. Hudson before going, but I suppose you don't want to hear about that. Straight to the point, right? That's the best way?” John let out a manic giggle, but to me it sounded like a saw ripping his mind to pieces.  My Soldier turned to face me for the first time since he began, but he wasn’t really looking at me, it was like I was a ghost. Again.

John had fallen into silence

“I'm so.. sorry, John.” _I’m so sorry for everything._ I know what I had done, I had given him hope. After he had given up and tried to move on I did the unthinkable and ended up giving him hope again. Hope that he knew -or thought he knew- he couldn’t believe in.

“I didn't even think you'd notice” I had never expected him to be so affected, not by any of it. I certainly never expected him to notice a single missing item.

****

“After that I sort of blacked out. The next thing I know is I'm sitting at your grave,” John continued, sliding down onto the floor and leaning against the desk. I hung onto his every word. “which by that point was covered with blood.” John’s hands clenched into fists and he stared at the floor beneath my feet like it had attacked Mrs. Hudson. It took me a moment to truly hear what he’d said.

“Blood?” I could hear my own voice shake a little.  I was confused.  Why would my grave be covered in blood? I knelt down to John, feeling distinctly like I was trekking into a minefield. I touched John’s foot, ready to retract myself in John got more upset. He flinched but didn’t move. Even his eyes did not move, now staring at the middle of my chest.

“John .. I don't understand?”

John finally looked at me. Really looked. The rest of his body didn’t move only his eyes, scaling up to my face.

“I took your pulse when you...fell.” John said

“You were very much dead. And that day when I came back to face your collection of oddities, right where I left them...the universe played a cruel joke.” John lifted his hand like it was a ten-pound weight and let it fall to one of the white splotches on the jumper. A large one sitting just over my heart.

“I continued my progress in therapy on the _principle_ that you were dead, that I watched you _j-jump_ , I felt your _heart stop beating_...I looked into your eyes...and I saw _death._ ” John’s hand curled into the fabric of the white spot, and it seemed like his whole being began to vibrate. This man could look down the barrel of a gun without blinking an eye, and it scared me that a single memory could strip him of his war hardened, danger loving personality.

“One thing was out of place. That bloody violin that I watched you play flipped the world upside down, just by being absent. It hurt too much...so I had to get rid of it...”

The hand knotted in the thick cloth pulled back, shaking ever so slightly. John took a deep rattling breath while he swiftly unbuttoned his shirt. He moved his hands up to grip the lapels and slowly tugged the fabric over his shoulders to pool at his elbows. What was revealed did more than hurt me; and i was suddenly far too aware of  the heavy beating in my chest.

A large, starburst shaped, rough patch of scar tissue sat squarely above my blogger’s heart. His next words were barely audible, and they broke my heart.

****

“I broke.”

****

**John POV**

* * *

 

“Oh god, John.” The detective’s fingers rested themselves on the discolored skin that blossomed over my pectorals. He traces the contours ever so slightly, staring, as if he’s trying to record the image into his brain. He probably is.

“How did you...?” His thought trails off, and he furrows his brow. “John...”

****

“Molly called,” I suddenly restarted, noting the hoarse, strangled tone my voice had taken on; and the small water droplet on Sherlock’s hand, still resting on my chest, that seemed to appear out of nowhere. “And she came to find me after she heard my voice.” I ran my fingertips along the white stain on the detective’s chest. “It took a lot of bleach, she said......to get all the blood out. Ended up leaving a whole lot of white spots on it, as you can see.” I swallowed the lump in my throat and continued. “I would've just thrown it out, but it was a gift from Harry...she was trying to fix things up, you know...” I thought of what would’ve happened had Molly not found me and I couldn’t hold in a sob. “And I almost ended up leaving her all alone. I'm sorry...Sherlock...” I tilted my head back to lean on the desk, I couldn’t stand to look at Sherlock’s face right now. The tears were running freely now, falling down the sides of my face.

I felt Sherlock’s fist clench and flinched against my will. He was angry, of course, but he would never hurt me. That’s what I was telling myself at least. I began hiccupping silently, _no wonder the Holmes brothers avoided sentiment._

“Don't you dare apologise for that, that was never your fault. God, I almost killed you. I almost...” A tremor ran through his hand as it smoothed out over my heart; I could feel his presence shift closer to me without touching.

“Thank you, John...

...Thank you for not leaving.” Something about the broken quietness in his voice made me recall a memory, something I had to thank him for. A little miracle.

****

“Thank you...” I said, curling my arms around the man’s torso and pulling myself to him, or rather him to me, and let my tears soak into the collar of the blotchy jumper. A choked sob echoed through 221B, and I held my detective tighter. He returned the embrace, encircling my neck with his arms and burying his face in my hair. A last droplet slipped from my eyes, leaving a wet spot on the navy fabric that had caused this breakdown. More in-control of my voice, I repeated, “Thank you...”

  
  
  
  
_“For not being dead.”_


End file.
